All the way at the bottom. Of the barrels we cry out. So ashamed of our tears that. We blame only ourselves. That's when they win. They keep us convinced.
She got down on hands and knees. One ear against the ground. Holding her breath to hear something. But the dirt made not a sound, tonight. . Echoes of songs still lurk on distant foreign shores.
The city grieves, like widows clasping. folded flags against their hearts.. Raindrops feel like dirt and roses. on black coffins in the dark.. Not yet corpses, still we rot.
On dirt like stone. The lions pace, the bones of men. That sought to overthrow. are all that remains. . Oh, what they stole. Was innocence, the slate once clean.